


In Only Seven Days | Roger Taylor

by HealyWilliams



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 04:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20001976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HealyWilliams/pseuds/HealyWilliams
Summary: The boys of Queen are taking a short break away from each other and their stressful recording sessions.What happens to Roger's weeklong vacation?





	1. Monday

Roger had no idea where he was.

Well, not entirely.

He knew he was still in the UK and was just hours away from London. It was a small coastal city, very much unlike the hustle and bustle of London.

He and the boys were in the middle of some rigorous song-writing and semi-recording process but it was all getting very tiring. While they were able to come up with a few material, none of them could entirely feel what they produced.

There were also a few arguments here and there about musical arrangements and metaphors and which line fitted this melody and so on.

It was exhausting.

And so Freddie had suggested that they all take some time away from each other, specifically a week, drive somewhere and not tell the others where they would be going. No one objected and the day after, each member was off to their own destination.

Roger had no idea why he chose the small and simple town. He wasn't even a big fan of beaches. Sure, sunsets were beautiful and the sky did look very pretty but it never really fascinated him.

The city, however, wasn't too crowded and busy, which he was very grateful of. Back in London, people were starting to recognize him in the streets and while it was flattering, he missed the times he could just walk freely without girls fawning over him just because he was the Roger Taylor.

The place seemed to be the town that would give him a week of normalcy. If he was being honest, his wrists were hurting from too much drumming.

It was currently 10am and he was intent on finding a place to stay at for the week, preferably somewhere with a car park.

The roads weren't entirely small but the buildings and establishments didn't go as high as the ones in London and in the cities of America.

Roger had stopped his car to ask an elderly woman who was walking by the sidewalk, perhaps in her 60's, if she knew any inns around the area. The woman had eyed him, mostly his disheveled blonde hair which stopped right at his shoulders, before giving him directions. He had removed his sunglasses and thanked the elder woman with a smile who seemed to warm up as soon as she saw his eyes.

After a minute or so, he reached the inn and was not entirely surprised nor disappointed at the structure facing him. The building was only three stories high and he was pretty sure the paint colour used to be a dark red. However, it had faded and there were patches of cream where the dark red paint had peeled off. There were several cars parked along the street so Roger assumed it was alright to leave his car there. He took out his bag, hung his sunglasses on his neckline and shook his car door to ensure it was locked. He then made his way towards the inn's front door.

The front door was also obviously very old. It had a wooden frame and cloudy glass panes. He opened it and was welcomed with a slightly dim lobby with carpeted floors and the place smelled like lemon wood polish. The dim lighting was caused by a rusty chandelier with several bulbs that weren't functioning anymore. He looked around and saw two red couches with a coffee table in between by the right side of the room. On the opposite was the front desk area where a woman in her 50s (Roger's intelligent guess) was standing.

"Good morning, what can we help you with?" She told Roger when she saw him approaching. He could tell her hair was obviously dyed as it was too black. Her pink lipstick was a stark contrast to it. She was wearing a white button shirt and a black pencil skirt. She didn't look very strict but she also didn't look very happy.

Roger took note of the gold nameplate on her chest's left side.

"Good morning, Lucy," he began, leaning slightly on the counter and giving away a side-smile. If any of his bandmates were around, they probably would have called him out for using the 'Roger Magic'.

It seemed to be effective, although not as much, as he noticed Lucy's posture change.

"I was wondering if you had any room's available?"

She nodded at him, saying, "You're in luck. We only have one available room at the moment. Lad that stayed just checked out at the crack of dawn. How long will you be staying?"

Roger then told her he'd be there for the week, to which Lucy confirmed that the available room was good for the duration as there were no reservations. She asked Roger to wait as she wandered to a door behind the counter which he guessed led to a staffroom of some sorts. He could hear her calling someone named "Mike" and asking if Room 112 was good to go. He heard a faint confirmation and soon enough, Lucy was back. She opened a small cabinet stuck on the left wall behind the counter and grabbed a key which she handed Roger.

After getting directions as to where the room was located, he began the small journey towards his temporary home.

The room, which was located on the upper floor, was quite small but seemed to be very cozy. The bed was covered in floral-printed sheets and blankets. There was a bedside cabinet with a lamp. By the window was a single chair and a coffee table. Behind the lace curtains, Roger had a view of the street where he could also see his car.

The bathroom, equally as small, had a shower, a toilet, and a sink. There was also a small shelf with two fluffy towels.

Roger was more than satisfied with his accommodation.

It was going to be a lovely and restful week.


	2. Tuesday

It was very rare for Roger to wake up according to his own body clock and not because of Brian shaking him awake.

He stretched his arms and let out a rather ungodly yawn.

He eventually stood up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as he made his way towards the small window. Sunlight was streaming in but it wasn't too blindingly bright.

His car was still there and no windows seemed to be broken, which he was grateful for. He was also equally as grateful for the warm shower. His feet were awfully cold when he woke up and he decided he would wear socks to sleep later in the night.

Roger decided he was hungry and that he needed breakfast. A look at his wristwatch, however, told him that it was already nearing noon and lunch was more in order than a breakfast. After dressing up in his favourite denim shirt, a pair of ragged black jeans, and trainers, he headed out of the small inn, leaving Lucy the key to the room on his way out.

He decided on walking and left his car on his way to find a diner to familiarise himself with the place he'd call home for a week.

After seeing what looked like a road leading to the coastline, he took the path and hoped that there would be some diners or food stalls in the area. Surely people there liked eating with a view of the sea.

As Roger walked, he did notice that some people would do a double-take at him. He assumed, however, that it was because of his hair and the way he dressed. As it was a small town, being a lad with long blonde hair and rather ragged clothes did seem out of place.

He was grateful, nonetheless, that no one was coming up to him yet to ask for an autograph.

A few minutes later and a multitude of establishments, Roger finally reached what he was looking for.

There was a long line of diners and cafes, all facing the beach. Outside every establishment were tables and chairs, some with umbrellas over them. A lot of the customers were families, there were also couples, a group of friends, and lone ones.

In the end, Roger chose the last diner, as it was less crowded and it was also nearest to the shoreline. He ordered a plate of white pasta (he couldn't remember the name), a slice of cake with cream frosting that was too thick, and a cup of hot coco. It was a weird combination of food but after weeks of consistent Chinese takeout and his bandmates' terrible cooking, he couldn't care less.

After his hearty meal, Roger decided to take a moment to stroll by the beach. He didn't have anything planned for the day anyway and thankfully the sun didn't hurt much.

There were a lot of families out, resting on blankets laid over the sand, with baskets full of food, and giant umbrellas protecting them from the sun. He walked a little further, to where the crowd lessened.

Roger paused when he was distant enough, looking back at the lines of shops and the families lounging. He could see the trail of his sneakers in the sand. He squinted his eyes toward the blue ocean, the waves glistening as the rays of the sun reflected on them. He directed his attention back to the path ahead of him and saw a wall of rocks where waves gently crashed.

It was then that his attention was caught by a movement from the rocks. Roger had terrible eyesight but he wasn't super far and too nearsighted to see the girl. Roger walked a little nearer and saw she had almost black hair which fell just above her breasts. She was wearing a light pink shirt that stopped at her waist and a flowing white skirt that stopped just below her knees. Her arms were crossed as she stood staring at the beach, hair and dress flowing in the direction of the wind. Like Roger, her eyes were also squinting from the brightness.

He looked at her closely for what seemed like minutes. Perhaps she felt his eyes on her as she eventually turned her attention to him.

Roger wasn't a stranger to the thought of women looking and staring at him. At the bars, after a show, he would notice one of the many women who were eyeing him and he would return their stare. Some would look away flirtatiously while some dared to hold their gaze.

However, this girl was different. As her eyes landed on Roger, it was he who felt something in his stomach stir and it definitely wasn't the kind of feeling he had for the girls at the after-parties.

She also didn't look like any of them.

But Roger couldn't keep his eyes away from her and eventually, she smiled at him.

It was warm and friendly and Roger returned it.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looked down on her feet, looked up again and gave him one last look, and turned away, walking back to the path he assumed she came from.


	3. Wednesday

Roger woke up again around noon.

While the bed felt too comfortable to leave, he pushed himself to get up and be ready for the remainder of the day.

Today's ensemble was a white shirt, half-buttoned to display his chest, pale blue denim jeans that flared out at the bottom, and his usual white trainers.

He also made sure to comb his fingers through his blonde locks before leaving the inn.

After bidding Lucy goodbye, who also seemed to be friendlier, Roger made his way down the path leading to the beach.

It was much hotter today and there seemed to be more people at the beach, with some actually swimming in the water. Roger opted for a different diner and was glad to find a Japanese one which he didn't notice yesterday. The place was owned by a friendly Japanese man who shook his hand when he placed his order. He was initially shocked by the enthusiasm but eventually understood when the man said, "My son! Big fan of your music. I see you in the posters in his room."

Roger was thankful the other customers were seated outside the diner.

"Tell your son thank you. Where is he?" Roger responded.

"He is in Japan for a break. But he will return here next, next week!"

Roger nodded, "Sadly, I don't think I'll be here by then. Do you want me to sign anything for him?" He offered, to which the man nodded, handing him a notebook and a pen. Roger made a note, "Your dad is very cool. Thank you for listening to our music," and signing it with his name. While he hoped for a break without anyone recognizing him, Roger was genuinely grateful for the interaction with the owner. It wasn't the kind in the other cities where he could tell others only came up to them just because.

The owner thanked Roger and offered him a free plate of salmon sashimi and another plate of maki rolls, along with his bowl of ramen (which he insisted he paid).

It was a good meal and thankfully the owner didn't fuss too much (except for the free food). After finishing his food (the sashimi was the best), he shook the owner's hand again and thanked him after saying, "Let's keep me being here a secret, alright?"

Outside, the crowd was thickening and Roger trudged towards the path along the shore he took yesterday. He placed his hands in his pockets as he walked, looking around the crowd, searching for the familiar face.

At times he'd make eye contact with a few girls and they would giggle amongst themselves, glancing at him again flirtatiously. But Roger would look away, trying not to be disappointed. There was also a point where a young woman did a double-take when they exchanged glances. Roger turned away and walked quickly, hoping the lady didn't recognize him and would lose sight of him.

When he was sure he was further away, he slowed his walking and turned his attention to the distance. The same wall of rock was there, receiving the splashes from the waves. The blue water was still glinting from the sun and the air whipped his blonde hair against his face. The sounds were still the same, the soft hiss of the foam hitting the shore and the rocks, the chatter of the people, the chirping of birds, fishermen yelling in the distance.

But she wasn't there.

Roger didn't know why he expected her to be there but he felt a twinge of disappointment.

He looked at his watch and decided he'd give five or ten more minutes and sat down on the sand. Thankfully, he'd brought his sunglasses so he wasn't squinting as much from the sun.

Four minutes passed.

Roger watched as a child ran along the shore, laughing as his dog chased him. The dog caught up with the boy, smothering him with sloppy kisses as the boy laughed and lovingly patted his dog's head.

Seven minutes had passed since he sat on the sand.

He looked around and was met again by disappointment when he couldn't find what he was looking for.

Three more minutes wouldn't hurt.

A group of friends passed him, they looked to be in their teens and Roger wondered briefly how his bandmates were doing and where they had spent their short break.

Roger looked at his watch. The tenth minute had come. He stood up and brushed the sand from his jeans and looked around for one last time.

There was still no sign of the dark-haired girl.

Perhaps he could come back tomorrow.


	4. Thursday

Roger woke up on the 4th day of his vacation much earlier than his usual noontime schedule, which was rather surprising as he had stayed up quite late the night before.

After yesterday's disappointment of not seeing the dark-haired girl, he had returned to the inn and eventually fell asleep during the afternoon. When he woke up, it was nearing 10pm. He would have chosen to continue his sleep if it weren't for his rumbling stomach.

So with wrinkled clothes and a mop of messy blonde hair, Roger rose and left the inn in search of food.

Thankfully, it only took him less then ten minutes of exploration of the area near his inn for him to be led to a bar that also served good warm food. Paired with a beer and a secluded booth, Roger enjoyed the rest of the night watching cover bands perform and the disappointment from earlier in the day seemed to be forgotten.

He then left the bar at midnight, just as the last band bid their goodbye to the small audience. After brushing his teeth and changing clothes, Roger was out like a light.

Now, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched his arms. It was already Thursday and his heart ached at the thought that after three days, he'd be back for work and his wrists would start hurting again from a lot of drumming. He certainly hoped he didn't have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome yet.

After his usual routine of shower, dress, lock up, and say goodbye to Lucy, he was off to the now very familiar route towards the bay. Normally, Roger liked to take his time when walking towards the coast. This time, however, his steps were bigger and his walk a little jumpier. What was normally a 15-minute stroll became 10.

It was just 9am when Roger finally reached what was becoming his favourite area in the small town. As it was still early and it was a weekday, there weren't much people in the shops and the shore yet.

He took refuge in a small café and ordered breakfast. There wasn't a single customer inside the café but he chose to sit outside, under the shade of a bright, yellow umbrella.

Roger ate quickly, paying little attention to his food, his eyes always roaming and scanning his surroundings.

It was his fork making contact with his now-empty ceramic plate that made him realize he had finished his breakfast. But his spot at the tiny café gave him a full view of the beach and the growing crowd so he decided to sit there for a little longer.

Eventually his watch told him he had been sitting there for thirty minutes. More customers were coming in for brunch at the café and he felt that he had to go to make way for them.

Just as he stood and patted his back pockets to check his wallet, he finally spotted the flowing dark hair he had been waiting for.

This time, she was wearing a printed shirt, tucked in by the waist with a flowing white skirt that stopped just a few inches above her knees. On her hair was a pink ribbon that matched the flowers on her shirt. She was fiddling with a film camera and seemed to be having trouble as she kept raising the camera to her eyes and putting it back down to check on something.

Roger's feet seem to moved on their own and he soon found himself making his way towards her. His heart was beating so fast it felt like someone was double-pedaling his chest like a bass drum.

Next thing he knew, he was standing a feet away from her. She didn't notice, however, as she was too busy with her camera.

Roger watched as her brows furrowed in concentration and frustration and thought very hard of what to say.

Eventually, his mouth opened and he found himself saying, "You look like you need help with that."

As soon as the words left his mouth, she raised her head to look at him and Roger felt his breath hitch.

Even with her wind-swept hair, Roger could clearly see her light brown eyes that glinted when the sun hit it just right. He could see she was free of any makeup, her lips were naturally pink and he could tell that the bronze blush on her cheeks were from days under the sun.

"Yes, actually," she responded. Her voice was much deeper and unlike the annoying high-pitched voices of girls who waited for him backstage or outside pubs.

Then she returned her attention to her camera and Roger started to breathe normally again.

"I've been trying to zoom this but it doesn't seem to budge. I've wasted around like three films just trying to get it to work."

Roger cleared his throat and nodded as her gaze fell upon him again. Out of nervousness, he looked at her camera instead.

"The lens must have jammed. Here, let me take a look at it," he responded, holding out his hand for the camera. She handed it to him, their hands making brief contact.

Roger could feel the double-pedal in his chest again.

He inspected the camera with thankfully steady hands and found that there was indeed something keeping the lens from turning. He could feel her eyes on him and he made sure what he was doing was correct.

After a few seconds, he managed to remove the obstruction and turned the camera on to see for himself. He lifted it up to his eyes and directed it at her, zooming in on her eyes.

"There," he said as he shut it off and handed it to her, "all good."

She tested it herself and took a picture of a yacht in the distance, her eyes squinting from the brightness.

"Wow, that was really quick. And effective. Thank you," she commented as she slung the strap around her neck, "Are you into photography, as well?"

"No problem. Not really but my roommate is so I kinda mess around with his cameras sometimes and learn a thing or two." Thank Freddie and his hobby, he thought.

"That's nice. I've only started so I'm still learning as well. You're not from around here, are you?"

Roger shook his head, suddenly remembering this was perhaps the only time he could interact with this girl.

"I work in London. I'm just here for a short break."

She nodded her head at this, saying, "I see. Work too stressful?"

"You have no idea," he joked with a laugh.

At this, she smiled at him and Roger had to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling from ear to ear.

"Yeah, I've been there and it really was stressful. What's your job, then?"

"Uh, music. Yeah, I work at a recording studio," Roger lied. But it wasn't entirely a lie as he was indeed working in the music and recorded in studios.

"Ah, so that explains your aura."

"My aura?"

"Yes, you look like you're a musician," she explained to which Roger smiled.

The conversation seemed to flow well so Roger decided it was time for him to step it up he wanted the remaining days to be worth it. If he didn't ask sooner, she would eventually say goodbye and he wouldn't see her ever again.

"What's your name?" He finally asked.

At this, she smiled at him and he watched her as her eyes traveled from his disheveled blonde hair to his baby blue eyes.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: hello, lovies! tis my first time to write a Queen fanfiction. Roger Taylor in 1975/76 was my basis for his look in this story. However, you are also free to envision Ben Hardy. Please leave a comment, fave, or add to your library if you're enjoying the story! :D


End file.
